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I found in a nice wooden hut at Balaklava. He was seated in a wine-cask, cut down and padded, which made a capital easy chair. He was in front of something like an ironing-stove. On the sides were suspended numerous relics of the war – swords, helmets &c. We planned an excursion for the following Tuesday. I was up at seven to breakfast with him, and at eight the horses were brought to the door. That of my friend (as I shall now style him) was a nice little Arab colt, and mine a rough Russian, but a very good one to go. We rode through numerous camps. The Sardinians I much admired for their soldierly appearance. We crossed the country to the rise of the Belbec. The scenery surpassed anything I had ever before beheld. We rode along by the side of a mountain on a new road that the French had just made. Below us was a valley of immense depth, and in front were the well-known Mackenzie heights. Bluff rocks were towering up on all sides; and, unlike the parts we had passed, the sides of the mountain were covered with stunted oak and low brushwood. All added to the scenery, and it requires a better head and pen than mine to give you a true idea of it. We went on until we were stopped by a French picket, we having got out to the advanced post. So, retracing our path, we took the Worinsoff road, and went on to the valley of Bida and the town of that name. That is one of the towns to which the inhabitants returned. It is only a miserable village of scattered huts, inhabited by Tartars. The road was a very good one, and was made by a Prince of its name. A Jew died somewhere near, who was worth an immense sum of money, and as he had no friends the Prince took his money and made the road with some of it. The scenery was still very beautiful. The mountain that we made for was of immense height, and this road wound round on one side. Stones were put to protect travellers from falling some hundred feet into a valley. On the other side, large pieces of rock overhung as if they would fall upon you. We passed a beautiful shooting-box belonging to one of the princes, in the midst of a wood, but now converted into a commissariat depôt. We put our horses in the town; and, after a great many signs, made the people understand that we wanted the horses to have something to eat. We then walked some distance to what was only a rivulet, but which in winter was a scene of great cataracts, as the pieces of rock themselves indicated. Taking our seat on one of them, we opened our sandwiches and flasks, and after our hard ride took a welcome refreshment. We got home about 5 p.m., after a ride of about 40 miles. So you may imagine how I felt, as I had not crossed a horse for a-